Spooking Around
by AmeliaGallifrey
Summary: Harry also caught sight of his Transfiguration teacher Professor McGonagall, looking very odd in a Muggle dress and coat, and she also seemed too busy to linger." Minerva McGonagall, spy extraordinaire. Or perhaps not.
1. Under summer skies, we meet again

Summary: On Dumbledore's orders, Minerva McGonagall and her Order colleague embark upon a mission of upmost importance.

Disclaimer: All recognisable characters are the property of JK Rowling. This work of fiction is intended for personal enjoyment only, no profit is being made.

**Under Summer Skies, We Meet Again...**

Minerva was distinctly uncomfortable, and far too hot.

The Muggle dress she had chosen on impulse clung, infuriatingly, in the most inappropriate of places. The woollen coat, although smart, was much too warm in the radiating sunshine. And the shoes...

_The less said about the shoes the better_, she thought, marching as swiftly as possible along the riverbank. It was a truly delightful day; cyclists and joggers and other rather disgustingly athletically-minded young people streamed past her careful stride, and from the water came the hearty shouts of oarsmen. Minerva, however, felt little patience for the sunshine; although it was certainly pleasant to be free of that soupy fog, for the first time since summer began.

She found the cafe easily enough, and the man she was due to meet, even if his face was hidden behind a copy of the Times. Slipping carefully into the empty chair at his table, she hastily shed her coat and stole a quick, assessing glance around. Half of the outdoor tables were empty, and no-one, it seemed, was paying neither her contact nor his new companion any mind at all. Minerva glanced sharply at the newspaper, voice lowered, intended only for the man hidden behind it.

"Lovely day for sighting Blubbering Humdingers."

The newspaper folded in the middle, revealing a reassuringly familiar and distinctly amused face. Kingsley Shacklebolt, broad-shouldered and dark, was dressed in similar attire to her own, and grinning fiendishly. Minerva noted, with some annoyance, that unlike herself, he looked remarkably comfortable and rather handsome, in his crisp shirt and slacks, silver cufflinks glinting at his wrists. He set the paper aside, eyes hidden behind a pair of very smart, and very dark, sunglasses.

"That's a ridiculous code word, Minerva. I thought we were supposed to be blending in on this mission?" His deep, easy voice was filled with amusement, and Minerva found herself, once again this morning, feeling rather irritated.

"I have the distinct impression, Kingsley, that you have come to consider this mission of ours to be rather less serious than Albus dictated. Might I remind you-"

But Kingsley cut her off, leaning across the table to match her secretive posture.

"I'm considering it with every seriousness imaginable, Minerva. That fact, however, doesn't preclude me from enjoying a nice moment in the sunshine, in your charming company. Nor does it prevent me from finding amusement in Albus's tendency to select rather... bizarre secret code words."

Although his tone was serious, the bright grin never left his face, and Minerva's annoyance faded to a mild simmer. She settled back in her chair and folded her hands neatly in her lap, as Kingsley continued to gaze amusedly back at her.

"And who have you come as, Professor?' He murmured, casting his eyes briefly over her bare arms and form-fitting tweed dress. Minerva shifted, still uncomfortable enough to be vaguely annoyed at his usual, gently flirtatious manner.

"My cover, if you are so interested to learn, is one Miss Prudence Pennyfeather, personal assistant to the Undersecretary of Policy Development, Mister Thomas Johnston." Minerva raised an unamused eyebrow, and took a sip of water from the glass he had set out for her. Kingsley nodded in an unhurried manner, and slipped off his sunglasses.

"I myself am Nelson Nobutu, scribe to the esteemed diplomat Sir Albert Harrington, and my task today involves the retrieval, at Sir Harrington's request, of numerous files of varying importance from the government offices in Thames House."

Minerva glanced sharply back down the busy road to the squarish set of buildings standing along the riverbank. She thought back to Albus's brief, and quickly cast aside the flutter of nerves in her stomach. When she turned back to Kingsley, he was no longer grinning.

"There's no need to be anxious, Minerva," he murmured in a rather gentle undertone, and she could not fathom how he had managed to spot the fleeting emotion as it had crossed her face. She stood, and he followed suit, slinging a black jacket over one arm and gesturing her gallantly into the flow of fast-paced foot traffic. He leaned close over her as they began to walk, shielding their conversation from the passing Muggles.

"I am not anxious, Kingsley, I would just prefer to get this over and done with, so I can get out of these dreadful clothes."

From the very corner of her narrowed eye she saw his mouth twitch once more, and his voice was rich with teasing amusement as he whispered close to her ear.

"Come now, Pennyfeather," he intoned, his hand settling rather comfortably at her lower back, "I happen to think you look rather chic in that ensemble. Although... I'm not so sure about the shoes."


	2. The performance of a lifetime

Summary: On Dumbledore's orders, Minerva McGonagall and her Order colleague embark upon a mission of upmost importance.

Disclaimer: All recognisable characters are the property of JK Rowling. This work of fiction is intended for personal enjoyment only, no profit is being made.

**The Performance of a Lifetime...**

The stone entranceway loomed, ancient and imposing, casting a long, cool shadow across the pavement where Minerva stood, close at Kingsley's side.

"Well, this is it," he muttered somewhat unnecessarily, as she safely stowed both of their wands into the depths of her handbag. Lifting her head, she caught the tail end of a worrisome expression on his usually amused face.

"I thought you said this is no time for anxiety," she whispered, nerves beginning to force her irritation to a higher level. Kingsley did not reply; instead he gave her a swift, inscrutable glance, and took a tight hold of her elbow.

He did not loosen his grip as they crossed the high-ceilinged lobby, and Minerva was quietly grateful at this steadying presence as her heels skittered across the marble floor. A large, long reception desk occupied much of the space, and was manned, it seemed, by one solitary attendant; a bored-looking boy of no older than twenty.

"He should be easy enough," Kingsley murmured somewhere in the vicinity of her ear, as she followed his lead and plastered a distracted smile across her face.

"Good-morning- how-can-I-be-of-assistance-today?" The boy rattled off in a single breath, his gaze barely lifting from his magazine long enough to brush over them. _I could've dressed normally, _Minerva thought darkly_, it's not as if this mere child would've noticed. _ Beside her, Kingsley set his well-muscled forearm on the desktop, and leaned casually closer to the now, funnily enough fully-attendant, boy.

"Nelson Nobutu and Miss Prudence Pennyfeather, here to retrieve the files Sir Harrington requested." He rattled off the cover story with practiced ease, and when Minerva stole a sidelong glance at his face she couldn't help being mildly impressed at this disaffected expression. The boy turned hastily to a side cabinet tucked beside him, and riffled through the drawers, and the slow reddening of his cheeks was something neither Minerva nor Kingsley failed to miss.

"Ah... Sir Harrington, you say?" The boy stuttered, and Minerva noticed with a glance at the badge on his breast pocket that his name, apparently, was Gerald.

"That's correct, Gerald," she whispered, in the scathing tone she ordinarily reserved for particularly foolish Slytherin boys. Gerald glanced sharply up, alarm now apparent in his young face. Kingsley spared the boy a disparaging look, and gave a deep, wearisome sigh.

"Is there a problem? We're in rather a rush, you see, Sir Harrington requires those files for a very important meeting this afternoon."

"We haven't all day to stand around, you know." Minerva added haughtily, tapping her fingernails in a sharp staccato on the bench-top. Gerald glowed radish-red.

"Well, uh, it's only... there doesn't seem to be any files here, for collection by Sir Harrington's office. Uh..." Gerald's voice trailed off, leaving his young face a perfect image of panicking fright. Kingsley gave another sign and shot her an unimpressed look, which Minerva returned with an impatient noise of her own.

"Well, really, this just isn't at all acceptable, is it, Mister Nobutu?" Minerva arched an eyebrow and set a hand on her hip, and caught the faintest light of amusement in Kingsley's dark eyes, before he turned back to unfortunate Gerald.

"Not at all, Miss Pennyfeather. Well, Gerald, how do you propose we rectify this little... oversight?" He leaned more heavily on the desk, his nose barely inches from Gerald's, and Minerva hid a smirk behind her hand. _He really is exceedingly good at this_, she thought, eyes fixed on Kingsley's enormous arm where it lay, now crushing Gerald's magazine.

"Uh, well, I could go to Records and see if I can find the files you need, but..." The boy looked utterly terrified, and Minerva tried very hard not to think of Neville Longbottom, and instead intensified her scowl.

"Surely you are not able to leave your station, young man?"

Gerald released an enormous breath, and seemed to deflate right before their eyes.

"No, no, Miss, ah, Pennyfeather, you're absolutely right. I cannot leave my desk. I, uh... have a duty to perform."

Minerva cast one last appraising look over the boy, before turning back to her companion. Kingsley met her gaze, and if she had not known better she would most likely have joined the boy in his cowering; the Auror looked utterly ferocious, his dark face etched in impatient anger.

"Are you meaning to tell me, Gerald, that Miss Pennyfeather and myself shall have to-" he gave a thoroughly convincing shudder of utmost horror, "-retrieve the files ourselves?"

Minerva made a good show of muttering hatefully under her breath, and threw in a 'not in these shoes, I won't' for good measure. Gerald winced, and Kingsley withdrew his arm from the desk, straightening to his full, imposing height.

"It seems there is nothing for it, Miss Pennyfeather. Once again, Her Majesty's government has proven the old adage to be true-"

"If you want something done, do it yourself." Minerva finished haughtily, and slipped her hand through Kingsley's proffered arm.

Only once they reached the stairwell on the far side of the lobby did they risk a shared smile.

"The poor boy!" She whispered, and Kingsley's deep chuckle echoed heavily in the enclosed, mostly marble space.

"Oh, I don't know. I think he liked you."

Minerva attempted a scowl, but did not manage to entirely suppress her laugh, clutching tight to Kingsley's arm as they continued their descent.

"You know," she began, looking sidelong and up to his amused face in profile, "you can be quite terrifying when you choose. The way you loomed over that poor child..."

Kingsley grinned. "I practiced on Lucius Malfoy," he replied, as they reached the very last level.

It was only then that Minerva realised she had no earthly idea where their quarry might lie.

"Ah..."

Kingsley seemed to have reached the same conclusion, and looked momentarily quite annoyed with himself. _I had a feeling we were having far too much fun_, Minerva thought, wincing slightly.

"Now where do you suppose 'Records' might be?" She asked, nerves beginning to dance once again in her stomach. Kingsley released her arm, and shrugged in a resigned manner.

"Door number one, Miss Pennyfeather?" He muttered, pulling open the first, and only, door in sight, and ushered her through.


	3. Me, jealous?

Summary: On Dumbledore's orders, Minerva McGonagall and her Order colleague embark upon a mission of upmost importance.

Disclaimer: All recognisable characters are the property of JK Rowling. This work of fiction is intended for personal enjoyment only, no profit is being made.

**Me, Jealous?**

The sudden darkness had Minerva searching for her wand, only to remember in a flutter of mild panic that it was still stowed safely away in her bag, and would have to regrettably remain so. Behind her, Kingsley deftly avoided collision by side-stepping the spot where she stood and glanced swiftly around.

"This way," he whispered, touching his hand to her arm once more. She followed close behind her, trusting his vision to be better adjusted to the shadows than her own, and soon the sound of idle chatter reached their ears, and along with some relief from the dark.

A partially opened door spilled painfully bright light into their darkened corridor, and Minerva paused in her tracks, peering carefully around Kingsley as they both strained to hear.

"...and then Davis comes in marchin' in, and he's all 'how's your father', and then..."

Kingsley's smile loomed brightly through the dark from somewhere above Minerva's head, his voice sounding quietly amused in her ear.

"I think we might be safe," he murmured, and, before Minerva could even begin to compose her next performance, threw open the door with a flourish.

"Look sharp, gents!" His voice boomed, the attention of every occupant of the small room drawn instantly in their direction. _ So much for going unnoticed_, Minerva thought, and followed in his wake.

"Ah... can I... help you?" A small, stringy-looking man stepped forward, craning his neck to gaze with a curious air into Kingsley's face.

"You can indeed, sir!" Kingsley intoned, giving the stringy man a wildly roguish wink and a rather forceful nudge. The stringy man, belying his rather weak appearance, kept his footing, and began to scowl.

"And how would that be?" Mr Stringy said, and as he crossed his arms at his chest Minerva had a sudden, rather panicked realisation that Kingsley's attempt at disarmament by way of brotherly joviality was set to fail, and fast. She stepped quickly past him, thankful for the very first time that day for the clingy nature of her dress.

"Don't mind Nelson, here, he... uh... had a liquid lunch!" Ignoring the pointed silence originating from Kingsley's general direction, she slunk closer to Mr Stringy, and attempted her best impression of Sybill Trelawney in full-flirtation mode with Severus Snape. Batting her eyelashes with ferocious speed, Minerva mentally gritted his teeth and laid a light hand upon Stringy's thin chest.

"Miss Pennyfeather," she breathed in her most sickly voice. "Charmed, I'm sure."

Stringy, eyeballs bulging and cheeks flushing rose-pink, glanced from her face to Kingsley and back again. Minerva, damning Albus Dumbledore to a torturously slow and painful death in her mind, forced a coquettish smile across her lips and ploughed on.

"And who would you be, darling?" She purred in a strongly exaggerated brogue, allowing her impaired sense of balance to send her leaning rather heavily against Stringy's chest. _The poor fool_, she thought, whilst blocking out the sound of Kingsley's impatiently tapping foot.

"I, ah... I'm Mister Wardly-Smith," Stringy , or, Wardly-Smith, managed in a choked voice, as Minerva upped the ante by twining an arm around his waist. Kingsley's foot really was becoming rather excessively loud.

"Well, Mister Wardly-Smith, Nelson and I seem to have lost our way. Perhaps you could... come to our rescue."

Stringy managed a watery smile, and Minerva succeeding in not leaping out of her skin when his hand settled somewhere south of her back. Kingsley, when she dared a glance in his direction, wore an expression oddly reminiscent of a distinctly discomforted Blast-Ended Skrewt.

"We were on our way to Records, you see, but we seem to have taken a wrong turn." Leaning as close as her churning stomach would allow, Minerva pitched her voice as low as possibly and touched a finger to Stringy's rather feverish cheek. "Nelson here has an appalling sense of direction."

Stringy seemed to appreciate this, or least his roving fingers did, and she stole another glance at Kingsley, which proved to be mistake. Arms folded over his broad chest, he glared directly at her with a scorching intensity, and Minerva had the distinct sense that, in the very near future, she would most certainly be in for a world of trouble.

"Records! Well, you're not far off, Miss Penny-farthing-"

"Pennyfeather," Kingsley's low voice sounded from across the room, but Stringy pointedly ignored the correction, his pink eyes fixed to roam over her face.

"Never mind, the point is-" and here he gave what was evidently intended as a dramatic pause – "I can show you! And your, err, friend. Won't talk half a minute! Unfortunately..." Stringy tipped her a watery wink, and Minerva realised, a touch too late, this fatal flaw in her hastily-assembled plan.

"Oh, don't trouble yourself, darling! Nelson and I will be fine! If you could just... point us in the right direction?"

The cloud of disappointment could not have been plainer as it crossed Stringy's face, and Minerva took the opportunity to extricate herself from his sticky grip.

"Oh. Well, then..." Stringy made one last flailing grasp, but Minerva moved at speed, considering the shoes, to stand beside a still-unsmiling Kingsley.

"Just... go back the way you came, carry on down the hall, and you'll see it. Double doors, with a plaque. That says 'records'. Obviously."

Stringy trailed off, his eyes still disturbingly hopeful upon her face, and Minerva managed a weak smile, before Kingsley's fingers clamped down, with surprising force, upon her arm.

The corridor was just as dark and deserted as before, and she found herself, once again, grateful for Kingsley's guiding grasp. Until she came to realise he was actually dragging her more than guiding, and that his grip was fierce enough to leave marks. As a large, rather nondescript set of double doors loomed ahead, he released her arm, without so much a word.

"Odd sort of set-up, isn't it?" She muttered, and her irritation soared when Kingsley remained silent.

"What's got you in such a twist, anyhow?"

Kingsley turned sharply on his heel, and she considered briefly how strange it really was to see true anger on his usually so amused face, before registering that his anger was aimed in her direction.

"Minerva. I know you may not have had a great deal of experience in missions such as these-"

She was very close to correcting him, and reminding him in her sharpest tone and very general terms just how much older, and more experienced, she was than he, but something in his dark expression inexplicably stilled her tongue.

"-but there are certain conventions that must be upheld, in order for mission to be a success!"

A quick, silent moment passed, in which Minerva struggled with the competing urges to laugh and rage at him, and Kingsley stared with hard eyes down at her.

"Such as, Kingsley?" She asked, raised her eyebrow in an expression he should, had he any sense at all, recall from his own school days, and fear accordingly. He was made of stronger stuff, apparently, because he only matched her unimpressed gesture.

"Such as... point position! I would've thought it obvious, back there, that I had assumed point! You-"

"Yes, that's all well and good, but your 'point position' wasn't working, was it?" Torn between supreme annoyance and near-hysterical laughter, Minerva resisted the compelling urge to swear. Kingsley gazed down at her in a newly intrigued way, something like curiosity flashing in his dark eyes. _What in the name of Godric Gryffindor is going through that head of his?_ To her amazement, however, he smiled, and shook his head either in resignation or an attempt to clear his mind.

"It might have worked. Eventually."

His only response to her disbelieving glance was a shrug, and another, brighter smile. She laid a hand on his arm.

"Kingsley, the very next Muggle we need to charm is all yours, I promise."

He looked briefly angered, before giving her an answering grimace, and some force she chose, in that moment, not to question led her to keep a hold of his elbow, as he shoved open the double doors to reveal their next dilemma.


	4. What's a network, anyway?

Summary: On Dumbledore's orders, Minerva McGonagall and her Order colleague embark upon a mission of upmost importance.

Disclaimer: All recognisable characters are the property of JK Rowling. This work of fiction is intended for personal enjoyment only, no profit is being made.

**What's a network, anyway?**

"What?"

"Isn't this..?"

Kingsley leaned quickly back through the double doors to re-examine the small plaque.

"No, it definitely says, 'Records'."

"Well, then."

Minerva rested a hand on her hip, as Kingsley moved into place beside her, and together they surveyed the long, strangely-lit room.

"Where do you suppose all the records are, then?" She muttered, already feeling a fresh of annoyance at the Muggles as it swept over her. Kingsley stepped forward, and leaned carefully over the nearest inexplicable object.

"I think... they're inside these."

Minerva scowled at the strange little box and its blinking little picture frame friend.

"Don't be preposterous, Kingsley."

He turned back to look at her, and she was annoyed once more to see amusement in his shadowed face.

"I've heard of these things, they're called... something..." He trailed off, focused intently on the little box and raising a hand to prod it gently.

"Seeing as 'something' is hardly helpful at the present, perhaps you could search your memory and come up with something more than...something?"

Kingsley shot out a hand and seized her wrist, pulling her to his side, his eyes never straying from the little black square.

"I can't remember what Arthur called them, but... the Muggles use them to store information. Like... like a pensieve..."

Minerva's scowl intensified as she glanced from his face to the flashing lights now running across the... screen?

"And what's wrong with writing things down, with good old quill and ink?" She murmured, as Kingsley, his face very close to hers in the dark, gave her a bemused smile.

"I'm sure the Muggles have their reasons, Minerva."

A red light blinked like an eye on the little screen, as Kingsley gave it a sharp poke, grinning wickedly.

"Sod their reasons, Kingsley. How are we supposed to lay our hands on those files?"

He had no answer, still entranced by the possibilities of the little boxes, and Minerva began to move along the bench to examine their brothers.

_All those tangled, messy... cables_, she thought, crouching down to peer into the shadows beneath the bench. _Where's Arthur Weasley when you need him?_

"Kingsley? Any ideas?"

Her colleague shot her a flash of a glance, and copied her posture to examine the underside of his desk.

"Not as such."

"Hmmm..."

Minerva's mind was still stuck on the pensieve in Albus's office, and when she recalled the time he had lent it to Filius last year a spark of innovation light up her mind like _lumos_.

"Kingsley?"

He stood and moved with a loping grace to stand beside her once more. _Does he always stand quite so close? I've never noticed before..._ Bringing her mind sharply back into focus and pushing aside the query, she indicated the tangle of multicoloured cables snaking into the shadows near their feet.

"Why don't we just... untangle one of these boxes, and bring it with us? I'm sure Arthur could figure out how to work it."

When Kingsley's expression did not shift to immediately reflect the brilliance of her decision, Minerva quickly found her hand returned to her hip and a fresh scowl contorting her features.

"Well?"

His voice sounded very quietly and slow in the dark beside her, his eyes tracking across the duplicate benches and boxes stretching to the far reaches of the room.

"It wouldn't work."

"Why... why on earth not?" Minerva was helpless to keep the irritation from her voice, and yet Kingsley remained quietly focused on something that, so far, was doing well to elude her.

"I think... I think they all need to be plugged in together. I don't think they'll work if we just... pull them apart."

Convinced his brilliant intellect had finally been exceeded, Minerva made an impatiently disbelieving sound.

"That's ridiculous. Of course it would work!"

But Kingsley made a sweeping gesture, indicating the neat assembly of blinking boxes, his arm brushing lightly against her shoulder in the process.

"Look at them, Minerva. They're all plugged in together, there must be a reason for it! It's like... like a... a network!"

"That is the most utterly-"

They started, in perfect synchronisation, as the double doors behind them slammed open, and a white light flooded the entire room around them. Minerva felt Kingsley's arm wrap protectively around her shoulders, as she whirled around, squinting blindly into the light. A darkly silhouetted figure stood in the open doorway, and as her eyes slowly adjusted, Minerva made out a wickedly gleeful expression and the glint of light reflecting from a breast-pocket badge in the shape of a shield.

"Well, well, well... What have we here?"


	5. Quick wits

Summary: On Dumbledore's orders, Minerva McGonagall and her Order colleague embark upon a mission of upmost importance.

Disclaimer: All recognisable characters are the property of JK Rowling. This work of fiction is intended for personal enjoyment only, no profit is being made.

**Quick Wits**

"Right, then! Hands in the air, both of you!"

Still tucked close to Kingsley's side, Minerva wrenched her stunned gaze away from the burly Muggle just long enough to catch Kingsley's quick nod. Following his lead, she disentangled herself and lifted both arms aloft, palms turned outward.

"Good, good... Now, let's 'ave a look at you, shall we?"

The Muggle man advanced, and Minerva was torn between annoyance and gratitude as Kingsley, still very close, shifted almost imperceptibly to block her from the Muggle's view with his own substantial frame.

"Don't move, don't panic, and let me do the talking." He hissed into her hair, as the Muggle stopped his advance a few feet away.

"By all means, Kingsley. I promised you the next one -" she caught his darkly warning glare, and swiftly decided the remainder of her statement could safely remain unspoken, and returned her attention to the Muggle.

He was a large, thick-necked man, dressed in a bulging navy blue uniform, and Minerva spent a tremulous minute mentally assessing Kingsley's chances of bettering him in a fist fight. Kingsley was certainly tall and strongly-built, but the Muggle resembled nothing so much as a large, heavily-enforced brick building, and his beady, gleaming eyes and the crimson colour of his cheeks gave the suggestion of particularly angry and nasty temperament. Beside her, Kingsley was wearing a rather forced smile.

"Now, easy there, son! There's no need for-"

"Shut yer trap!"

Kingsley complied very swiftly, and Minerva resisted rolling her eyes, instead taking advantage of their close proximity to whisper darkly into Kingsley's chest.

"In the mood for a chat, I _don't_ think..."

Her wit was quickly rewarded with a sharp nudge to the ribs from Kingsley's elbow, and she expressed her irritation with a particularly nasty scowl directed toward the red-faced Muggle.

"What do you two think yer doing? This is authorised personnel, down 'ere!" The Muggle peered closely into Kingsley's face then hers, and Minerva felt an almost irresistible urge to imitate Peeves' best raspberry. _Dignity, Minerva_, she thought rather murderously; _dignity at all times. _Kingsley braved an airy, distinctly false-sounding laugh.

"Well, we could tell you why we're here, but then... We'd have to kill you!"

The Muggle, apparently, suffered from a markedly underdeveloped sense of humour.

"What!? What're you playin' at? The only one doin' the murdering down here is gonna be me!"

Minerva indulged in a slow, painful blink.

"Perhaps not the best approach, Kingsley."

"I don't see you coming up with anything better!" He hissed in return, as the Muggle became preoccupied with gleeful salivation. Minerva's irritation soared to yet another new height.

"You wanted to take point! I'm only following orders-"

"I never ordered you to make sarcastic comments-"

"Oi!"

Recalling their unfortunate company, Minerva turned sharply back to the puffy guard, Kingsley quickly following suit.

"Shut. Yer. Traps. Both of yer!"

Suitably chastised, Minerva fell silent, as her mind pondered the likelihood of her being able to retrieve her wand from her bag before the Muggle could have a chance to launch an attack. In a stunning display of Legilimency, of perhaps a lucky guess, Kingsley dared another whisper, this time free of anger.

"We can't Stun him."

Minerva shot him a flashing glare. "Why, in Godric's name, not?"

"Now, I don't believe I've seen the two of yer before..." Thankfully distracted with searching his brain for some non-existent memory of their employment, the Muggle failed to hear, or chose to ignore, their whispered conversation.

"Magic only as a last resort, Minerva! You read the brief!"

Scowling, Minerva spent an enjoyable half-minute dreaming of using every last one of Albus Dumbledore's well-written briefs as fuel for a rather large bonfire, before giving an obstinate sigh.

"And this particular situation doesn't amount to a last resort?" She dared a quick, supremely annoyed look at Kingsley, but to her amazement his face had transformed, into an expression resembling that of a Weasley twin, apprehended in the throes of mischief. _So, here comes the acting again..._

"...of course, I can't remember everyone in this joint, I'm not _that_ good..."

Kingsley's exaggeratedly sheepish shrug drew the Muggle's attention back to his prey, and Minerva felt a strong urge to cross her fingers.

"It looks like you've got me, mate! Well done you!"

The Muggle looked as confused as Minerva herself felt, and took a sensible step back, as Kingsley's masterpiece performance took full flight. He looked wistfully down at her, and she could see the sparkle of amusement returned to his dark eyes.

"The jig is up, Miss Pennyfeather!" He exclaimed heartily, as the Muggle looked on in bewilderment.

"It... it is, Mr Nobutu?" She managed, in an uncertain attempt at playing along.

"Oh, it is indeed!" He boomed, adding a rich laugh and a ringing clap of his hands. The Muggle's ruddy expression remained unchanged, until Kingsley leaned forward to give him a sharp double-nudge, complete with wink and wolfish grin. The Muggle's eyebrows shot somewhere into his hairline, and Minerva struggled to prevent hers from following suit.

"Of course, you're only doing your due duty, sir, but... oh, it's a shame, such a shame!"

The Muggle, utterly perplexed, looked slowly from Kingsley's grinning face to Minerva's and back again. _Don't look at me_, she thought, _I don't know what he's on about either!_

"What's a shame?"

Kingsley, to Minerva's not entirely displeased shock, lowered his arm and scooped it around her waist, tugging her fully against his chest. _What on earth...?_

Kingsley tipped another raging wink at the wide-eyed Muggle, and lowered his voice to play what was evidently his best hand.

"Shame I didn't have time to get in a good snog, before you caught us!"

Minerva closed her eyes. And wished, very, very much, that she could keep them closed for a rather long time. Somewhere at her waist, Kingsley's particularly warm hands seemed on a mission of their own, and the Muggle - catching on, apparently - gave a darkly lascivious bark of laughter.

"So, you see... it's a shame." Kingsley added somewhat unnecessarily, and Minerva managed to open her eyes and ignore, for the most part, the movement of his hands over her hips and back and hair and... everywhere. _Oh, Godric and Rowena, save us..._

The Muggle cast a long, sticky glance over her, and Minerva felt surprisingly glad for Kingsley's close presence, for a minute at least, until she felt his burning gaze shift, to blaze down upon her. She lifted her face, trying desperately not to wince.

"Such a shame..."

His face barely an inch from hers, Minerva felt her cheeks begin to resemble, in colour at least, those of the puffy Muggle, and gave a rather weak imitation of Kingsley's beaming grin. She chose to ignore the pointed shift of his gaze from her eyes to her lips, and back again, and turned to shoot what she hoped was a coquettish smile in the general direction of the Muggle.

"Well... I, uh...." But the Muggle had been rendered apparently speechless, and Kingsley it seemed had forgotten his presence entirely. He was grinning so brightly, and gripping her so tightly, that Minerva felt suddenly very warm indeed, and rather short of breath.

"She's a very _capable_ assistant, you know..." Kingsley murmured in an alarming undertone, and Minerva thought she may have heard the Muggle reply, although her ears had suddenly become filled with a rather loud thudding noise, that could very well have been her pulse.

"Oh, I'm sure." The Muggle's darkly lecherous tone was enough to bring Minerva a little closer to reality once more, and she composed herself enough to shoot him a simpering smile. Kingsley's gaze, however, made no effort whatsoever to shift from her face.

"I don't suppose you could... err..." She began, in her best delicate tone, and the Muggle, bless him, seemed to take the hint.

"Oh, well, ah, Miss...."

"Pennyfeather." Kingsley was still paying enough attention to the conversation, apparently, to offer this helpful gem, as the Muggle grinned wickedly on.

"Pennyfeather, yes.... Well, I could, ah... I suppose I could... turn a blind eye?"

_Thank you, Merlin..._

"After all, who am I to stand in the way of a little... afternoon delight?"

_Curse the ruddy bastard to hell..._

Minerva gave him one last wavering smile, as he hitched up his trousers and waddled though the open doors, flicking what was evidently the light switch on his way. As darkness swallowed them once again, Minerva turned back to Kingsley, whose grin still beamed brightly down upon her, and whose grip had, from all appearances, not loosened in the slightest.

"How considerate of him..."


	6. Lizzy, Darcy and Lois

Summary: On Dumbledore's orders, Minerva McGonagall and her Order colleague embark upon a mission of upmost importance.

Disclaimer: All recognisable characters are the property of JK Rowling. This work of fiction is intended for personal enjoyment only, no profit is being made.

**Lizzy, Darcy and Lois**

For a tall, well-built man, Kingsley Shacklebolt could certainly move at speed. Luckily for him.

"Well, that was quite possibly the single most unpleasant experience of my entire life!" Minerva felt very much in the mood for railing with unsupressed rage, and Kingsley's broad back provided an almost-perfect target for her feverish abuse. Absolute perfection would have been to rage directly to his face, but beggars couldn't be choosers and all that. Particularly seeing as she was struggling to even keep pace with his long strides, given the shoes.

"Mark my words, Kingsley, the very next time Albus bloody Dumbledore tries to palm off one of his_ briefs_ in my direction... oh, it's nothing, Minerva, just a mere trifle! Won't take you half a minute, just break into an official Muggle government building and remain undetected long enough to collect some bloody paperwork and find your way out alive, and oh, by the way-" here Minerva drew a renewing breath, "-by the way, you can't use magic! No bloody magic! Oh, when I see him, the doddering old... well, let's just say, Kingsley, between you and I; he won't be able to walk straight or sit down for a fortnight! I'll show him what he can do with his bloody ridiculous briefs!"

Struggling for breath as she hurried along in her heels, Minerva scowled violently at the back of Kingsley's head, anger brimming over within her and climbing by the second. In a moment of rare clarity between gulped breaths, she realised just why her usual tactic of ranting was, at the present, disappointingly ineffectual at dimming her rage.

_He's not arguing back! He's supposed to be arguing with me, that's what any reasonable person would be doing! _

But Kingsley's broad shoulders were set in a straight, unwavering line, and nothing but the sound of her own breathing and their rushing footsteps reached her ears. She was about the launch into an even more aggressive rant, when Kingsley skidded to so sharp a halt that she had little choice but to collide squarely into his back. Thankfully, he was quick enough in his reflexes to keep her upright with one swift hand to her back and one to her elbow, and a few heated seconds passed before Minerva thought to be angered by the fresh attempt at man-handling her person.

"Oh, I'm not having any more of that, thank you very much-" she began, only to be quickly silenced as Kingsley pressed a finger to her lips.

"No noise!" He mouthed, and indicated a small, dusty plaque set into the door before them, and the square window just above it. The tiny letters on the plaque read, 'Archives.'

Disentangling herself from Kingsley's grasp, Minerva peered through the glass, briefly pleased by the fact that the shoes meant she did not have to rise to her toes.

A young woman, wearing thick-rimmed spectacles and hunched over a novel, sat at a small desk in a circle of wan lamp-light. Minerva's gaze was drawn, however, to the wondrously welcome sight in the dull shadows beyond the girl and her book.

Row upon row upon gleaming, steel-coloured row of filing cabinets. All standing in neat lines and stretching back into the darkest reaches of the room like a faithful, unmoving sentry. A brilliant surge of giddy relief flooded through Minerva's limbs.

"Records!"

From very close over her shoulder, Kingsley spoke softly and with a similar, happily relieved tone as she, albeit edged in his characteristic cheekiness.

"Well, no. Archives, to be precise."

He grinned fiercely at her, as she attempted a particularly half-hearted scowl, all anger and annoyance now long forgotten. Minerva hastily straightened the hem of her dress over her knees, and slipped under his arm as he pushed the door ajar.

"Good afternoon, my dear!"

The girl, who looked quite as young as dear Gerald at the front desk, started violently and snapped her book shut, resettling her slightly askew glasses as she gazed up at them with a vaguely annoyed expression.

"Uh, how can I help you?"

Sparing barely a glance at Kingsley behind her, Minerva took the liberty of assuming point and smiled as warmly as she could manage, at the already suspicious-looking girl.

"Prudence Pennyfeather, of the office of Mister Johnston. In the Policy Department."

A dullish spark of recognition coloured the girl's plain, pale face.

"Oh, yes, Mister Johnston, I know him."

Minerva raised a hawkish eyebrow, "Personally acquainted with Mister Johnston are you, dear...?"

The girl made a gulping noise, a dull pink flush rising to her cheeks.

"Ah, Lois, it's Lois. And, no, I'm not, ah... not personally acquainted, no."

"Yes, well. You will have heard, certainly, of the momentously significant project Mister Johnston's office is at present conducting in collaboration with the office of Sir Harrington? The Johnston-Harrington project?"

Barely waiting for the girl's blankly perplexed expression to appear, Minerva ploughed on, gaining more confidence in her own acting ability by the second, as Kingsley kept a close, and rather warm, presence at her side.

"Well, it is a very _secret_ project, you know, it's really no suprise word hasn't yet reached down... err, down here." Minerva wrinkled her nose and glanced swiftly around the dark, dusty room. The girl's heavy brows drew into a furrowed line behind her spectacles. _Unpleasant little brat_, Minerva thought darkly.

"Anyhow, it's very important work, ground-breaking, really!" Minerva, slipping just a little in her confidence in this particular charade as the girl continued to scowl, glanced sharply to Kingsley, only to find upon his face, fixed squarely in her own direction, an expression resembling a sort of glazed, distracted fascination. He promptly returned to the present, however, with the help of a sharp jab to the foot from Minerva's well-placed heel.

"Yes! Yes, very important work! Ground-breaking, really innovative..." He added, his thoroughly distracted tone covered up nicely with one of his impossibly bright and generally irresistible smiles. The girl blushed more furiously.

"And... how can I be of assistance to the Johnston-Harrington project?"

Minerva placed a palm onto Lois's messy desk surface, and leaned close enough to count every freckle across girl's nose.

"Mr Nobutu and I were sent to retrieve a number of various personnel files for Messrs Johnston and Harrington's perusal. The requested seems to have been... ah, lost in translation, however, as when we arrived, no such files awaited us."

Beside her Kingsley, focus regained, fixed his features to unimpressed glowering, but Minerva caught the now-familiar flash of wicked amusement as their eyes briefly met. The girl, Lois, lifted her heavy brows in dark scepticism.

"That seems highly unlikely. We have a very efficient memo system in place, perhaps your office-"

Minerva pressed her eyes tightly shut and leaned backward in an appalled swoon, as Kingsley's hand once again went swiftly to her arm.

"I do hope you are not suggesting a failure on the part of Mister Johnston, dear! Such words would certainly amount to treason, after all the wonderful man has done in Her Majesty's service-"

Evidently fond of her job, Lois looked rushed to correct herself. "No! No, I... I wouldn't dream of it! Certainly not... but, ah... if you're after files, why don't you just go straight to Records and have them electronically transferred?"

In utter incomprehension, Minerva waved a dismissive hand. "The system's down, dear."

"Oh! Oh, well, then... Funny, it's the first I've heard..." Lois added in a whispered undertone, and Minerva took the opportunity to fix the insolent creature with a fierce look.

"What was that, dear?"

"Nothing! No, nothing at all." Lois stood, which made little difference to her overall height, and gestured to the room, or rather, storage hall, of filling cabinets.

"I assume you have a list of the files you require?"

Minerva straightened up, and flashed her a bright smile. "Indeed we do."

"Well, ah... go ahead, then. I'll just, ah... carry on with my work."

Minerva cast a hawkish glance to the dog-eared copy of Pride and Prejudice as Lois regained her seat.

"Yes, don't let us interrupt you, dear."

But Lois was evidently already lost to Lizzie and Mr Darcy, leaving Minerva and Kingsley to sweep purposefully past into the shadows. From the vicinity they had just departed came Lois's distracted voice.

"Oh, you'll want the lights, I suppose."

The space was bathed instantly in brilliantly harsh light, and Minerva drew a sharp gasp. Close beside her, Kingsley muttered a swear word.

"Just how many files do the have in this place?"


	7. Are you a wizard, or not?

Summary: On Dumbledore's orders, Minerva McGonagall and her Order colleague embark upon a mission of upmost importance.

Disclaimer: All recognisable characters are the property of JK Rowling. This work of fiction is intended for personal enjoyment only, no profit is being made.

**Are You A Wizard Or Not?**

Minerva left the shoes, in a neat little pile for safe-keeping, somewhere around the row marked 'J to K'.

Kingsley had commandeered a broad, scarred table as their meeting place, and the pile of sliding files upon it grew steadily by the minute, as each dashed back and forth among the dank, dusty cabinets. The quiet was punctuated only by the occasional cry of some name or other from Kingsley – "Chorley, Herbert!" – And, with only marginally less frequency, a darkly muttered expletive issued from Minerva's own lips. She was so deeply entrenched in examination of the title page of one particular file, as she rushed back toward their table, that she completely failed to notice Kingsley, similarly preoccupied, until she collided bodily with the solid wall of his chest.

"Oh!"

In the resulting tangle of limbs and files, Minerva's stockinged feet slipped away from beneath her, sending her tumbling to the floor with very little grace or elegance. Kingsley, despite a valiant attempt at catching her, only succeeded in toppling himself, and landed, rather heavily, almost directly atop her. By the time he had shifted enough to prop himself on one elbow and look into her face, Minerva's cheeks were blazing. Her dress, she felt with dismal certainty, had risen to some undefined point north of her knees, and still Kingsley remained, with a vaguely shocked expression in his eyes, draped at full stretch across her frame.

"Err..."

Feeling as warm as if she were outside in the sun wearing her woollen coat, Minerva wriggled about enough to extricate her right arm from beneath her, only to find nowhere to put its attached hand than upon Kingsley's shoulder. She very pointedly ignored the warmth of his skin under her palm, radiating from beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.

"Are... are you injured?" He murmured his dark eyes intense with concern and his lips an inch from hers. _Which is an entirely irrelevant fact, _she briefly reminded herself.

"No, I... I don't believe so."

"Oh. Good."

A markedly heavy half-minute passed, in which Minerva's breath remained trapped within her mostly-crushed chest, and Kingsley's gaze did not shift its intense focus from her eyes. Despite every best effort to the contrary, she was, in the end, unable to prevent herself from biting, with rather delicate nervousness, down upon her lower lip. Which, of course, precipitated the furious rush of bawdy images which flooded wildly through her brain. _Kingsley, huge hands slipping beneath the thin shield of her dress, hovering over her in a dark, graceful shadow, kissing her mouth with unbridled passion..._

The blast of air that assaulted her was horribly, disappointingly cold, as he moved to climb off of her person and kneel before her, and she found herself quite unable to look him in the eye as she moved to awkwardly sit up. _Don't be ridiculous, Minerva, it was nothing more than an accident,_ she mentally chided herself, as he rose easily to his feet.

"I'm sorry, Minerva." His voice, a mutinous part of her brain was somewhat savagely pleased to hear, sounded just the slightest bit choked. Collecting herself, she hurriedly straightened the hem of her treacherous dress.

"Never mind, my fault as much as yours."

"Here." He held a strong arm aloft, and lifted her, with no discernible effort at all, to her feet once more. Pulling herself rather raggedly together, she lifted her head to look into his face. He wasn't smiling, exactly; his expression was more one of almost painful uncertainty, and, with a rather sheepishly raised eyebrow, lifted a hand to deftly tuck a lock of her loosened hair behind her ear.

"Thank you." She managed, before crouching to retrieve their lost files and concealing her eyes within their depths. Thankfully, Kingsley appeared more than happy to follow suit, and together they returned to their overburdened table. Minerva sighed at the sight of the small mountain of paperwork they had managed to collate.

"Does Albus really think all of these Muggles might be susceptible to the Imperious Curse?" She muttered disbelievingly, and Kingsley gave an airy shrug beside her.

"Who knows what Albus thinks."

She chuckled at this, and as Kingsley joined in the tension that had lingered so heavily seemed to dissipate.

"How many more are there to collect?" Stepping close as he retrieved the eight or so inches of parchment from a trouser pocket, he narrowed his eyes upon its contents, and Minerva was granted, or cursed, perhaps, with an opportunity to survey him unobserved. _He really is so very tall, she thought distractedly; and such broad shoulders... _

"I think that's the lot of them, actually!" He exclaimed with relief, and stuffed the parchment away once more.

"Well, there is a god in heaven after all..." Minerva intoned, and occupied herself with brushing dust from the front of her dress. Kingsley's silence, once it reached her ears, sent her good mood plummeting once more.

"What?" She asked warily, as he scowled at the tabletop, now invisible beneath what appeared to the contents of exactly half of all the filing cabinets in the room. He turned, very slowly, to meet her gaze.

"How are we going to get all of this out of here?"

Minerva turned back to the table, frowning in concentration, as Kingsley continued.

"We can't just lug it all ourselves, there's too much! Damned Albus... I suppose we could ask Lois if she has a trolley-"

Minerva's last strand of patience with their mission wore through.

"Kingsley Shacklebolt, are you a wizard or not?!" She trilled, dropping her gaze to dig about in her small handbag. "Honestly, I do seem to recall you attained exceptionally good marks in your Transfiguration NEWTS... and you want to look for a trolley?"

Finally having found her quarry, Minerva whipped her wand from the depths of her bag, and moved it in a sharp, well-practiced movement in the direction of the table. In an instant, the enormous pile of files was gone, transfigured swiftly to resemble one small, slimline black leather binder with neat tartan trim. Allowing herself a satisfied smirk, Minerva picked up the binder and pressed it neatly to Kingsley's chest.

"I'll leave you to carry this out, shall I? You've got the shoulders for it, after all."

She had barely a second to contemplate his confused expression at her reference to his bodily strength, because, from behind one of the closer cabinets, came a muffled thump. Minerva whipped around to find Lois, glasses askew across her nose, crouching in the shadows and wearing an expression of utter shock upon her freckled face. From close behind her, Minerva heard Kingsley's dark mutter.

"And _that's_ why Albus said no magic."


	8. Victory, and its reward

Summary: On Dumbledore's orders, Minerva McGonagall and her Order colleague embark upon a mission of upmost importance.

Disclaimer: All recognisable characters are the property of JK Rowling. This work of fiction is intended for personal enjoyment only, no profit is being made.

**Victory and Its Reward**

Obliviating Lois was easy, and Minerva felt only a fleeting twinge of remorse at the thought of the poor girl returning to her book, only to find herself completely unacquainted with the tumultuous relationship between Elizabeth Bennett and Mr Darcy. _She'll figure it out_, Minerva thought rather snidely, _and I highly doubt this is her debutante read-through, anyhow._

Thoroughly resenting the extra four seconds required to put on her shoes, Minerva accepted Kingsley's proffered hand, and, following his lead, promptly ran for it.

It was a full two minutes' worth of sprinting before she realized the corridor they utilized for their hasty retreat was not, in fact, the same corridor they had arrived from. From somewhere alarmingly close came a series of angry shouts, and by the time Minerva heard the accompanying racing footsteps, Kingsley had already shot off through a door chosen at random, dragging her by the hand along with in his wake.

"How did she get help so quickly?" She huffed, yanking up the hem of her dress enough to free her knees, sod modesty. As they barrelled down another thankfully empty corridor, Kingsley threw a quick glance over his shoulder and muttered a word she was certain she did not understand.

"I didn't quite catch that, Kingsley."

With a sharp yank to her arm, he pulled her through another open door, as the hammering footsteps drew nearer.

"I said, 'telephone!'" He hissed, scanning the new room into which they had stumbled.

"Thank you, that clears it right up," she muttered with dark sarcasm, and took the opportunity to look around for herself.

The room was just as darkened as all the others thus far, and sparsely occupied with a few chairs, a small sink and an empty bookcase. Minerva experienced a rather frightening thought, as Kingsley continued to scan around, eyes narrowed and looking from wall to wall.

"Kingsley... what if the Muggles don't actually run straight past this door? There's no good us hiding if they just come blasting in-"

But he had no answer for her, it seemed, and from the corridor beyond their room came a distinct shout.

"They're in the old tea room! Come on!"

This, at last, seemed to get Kingsley's attention. His dark eyes were narrowed as he turned to her, and Minerva had the unnerving impression that he _had a plan._

"What are we going to do, Kingsley!" She hissed, moving quickly across the room to take hold of his arm. He looked swiftly back to the wall on his left, to the roof, to the door, and finally back to Minerva's face.

"There's no other option, Min," he began, and she promptly ignored the silly little flutter in her stomach at the impromptu nickname, "- this is a last resort, don't you think?" He extended a hand, and glanced sharply at her small bag.

"Finally, some sense..." she muttered, as the thudding footsteps of the Muggles began to resemble the sound of a herd of galloping Thestrals. She handed over his wand, wielded her own, and turned back to the dismally thin door.

"They're getting quite close, Kingsley!' She said with rising alarm, as he stepped closer to the wall behind the bookcase. "This plan of yours...?"

He glared with fiercely narrowed eyes at the wall before him. "If I'm right... this room is on the furthest side of the back of this building. So, behind this wall..."

"Is freedom?" She suggested desperately, as the shouts from the corridor became alarmingly loud and frightfully clear.

"Exactly." He whispered, eyes fixed in concentration, and another darkly treacherous thought occurred to her.

"And... if you're wrong?"

He turned to look at her in the darkened space, and his smile was one of something close to fond amusement.

"Then... we burst through here into a room full of unsuspecting Muggles-"

"And expose the entirety of the wizarding world to the security and defence organisations of the Muggle government, and most likely get ourselves arrested and likely murdered in the process?"

He grinned.

"Or die in the blast."

She closed her eyes.

"Excellent plan."

"In 'ere! They're in 'ere, come on, lads, we got 'em now!" The roaring voice sounded from just outside their room, and Minerva crossed her fingers behind her back.

"Brace yourself, Min!" Kingsley cried, before aiming his wand squarely at the horribly solid-looking wall.

The resulting explosion was so loud, and the intensity of the sunlight which poured through the decimated wall was so bright that Minerva was certain, for an unnerving moment, that she had gone thoroughly both deaf and blind. Beside her, as her eyes quickly adjusted, Kingsley was grinning broadly and stowing his wand into a back pocket in his slacks.

"I was right, Minerva!"

Deciding to save her disappointment at the loss of her nickname for consideration at another, more appropriate time, Minerva tucked her own wand back into her bag and surveyed their surroundings.

Kingsley had blasted an enormous huge hole right through the solid stone wall of the building, leaving them standing, in bright, beautifully welcome sunshine, in a half-empty car-park. The back of Thames House loomed behind them, the hole in stone and cinder-block gaping like a missing tooth from a smile. When she finally turned back to Kingsley, his expression was one of pure, exhilarated glee, and Minerva found herself helplessly imitating him.

"I can't believe we got out! We did it, I can't believe it!" She said, looking quickly down at the leather binder still clutched tight in Kingsley's hand. He gave it a victorious shake, grinning down at her as if she were the most riotously amusing thing he had ever seen, and in a hot, flooding rush Minerva involuntarily recalled their moment on the floor of the Archives room, and the blazing, heated way in which he had held her gaze.

She couldn't have honestly said she was surprised, really, when he swooped, encircled her in his arms and kissed her lips, in one instantaneous movement. Equally, she couldn't have been capable of denying just how very glorious it felt, and how horribly disappointed she found herself to be when the kiss ended, and he released her. Only the sound of a furious shout, from the jagged hole in the side of the building, managed to drag her eyes from his, although the frightening sound did nothing to wipe the blooming smile from her face.

"Time to be gone, I think," he murmured, impossibly dark eyes fixed upon her, and she felt, with an engulfing, blissful wave of warmth, his fingers entwine around her own. From the nearby building, a murderously angry-looking Muggle clambered from the rubble, shaking his fist in their general direction. Minerva couldn't suppress her grin, and had only one last concerning thought, as she clutched Kingsley's hand in hers and yielded to his guiding Disappparition.

"Where did we leave our jackets?"


End file.
